You Who Complete Me
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:C:. Because Edward and Alphonse didn't become the most important parts of one another's lives overnight. Because being brothers is a process, a journey. And because every journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. Or, in their case, ten. Brotherly fluff.


**ONE**

After Dad left, somehow, Edward had gotten it into his mind that it was up to him to take on the role of a "Father" in the Elric household.

But Alphonse, still waiting for their real Dad to return home, didn't agree with this. Edward was almost his age—only a year older—and it felt too strange and too annoying to have to take orders from him. However, he was also too kind of a boy to tell his brother that outright (after all, what should happen if he hurts his brother's feelings?). So instead, Alphonse decided to subtly remind his brother of his true place in their family.

He began to call Edward "Brother."

* * *

**TWO**

Alphonse began to notice that Edward was reading Dad's books—and far too much, in the little brother's opinion. It was getting in the way of playtime—and playtime outside and with friends, too, which was the best kind of playtime there was.

"Come on, Brother; don't you want to play with Winry and the others? It's such a pretty day!"

"No," came the dismissive groan. The head of bright blonde hair didn't turn in his direction.

Alphonse frowned. "So you're just gonna sit here? _All day_?"

No response. Was that a 'yes?'

_Wouldn't be the first time, _Alphonse thought wistfully. He sighed. "Okay. If you want to read, I guess I won't stop you. But I'm going to be outside and _having fun._" Because who said you had to have your older brother around to have fun anyway?

Edward seemed to think the same thing, waving his hand in a half-hearted farewell, and _still _not glancing up from their father's book spread open on his lap to do so. "Sure. Whatever."

But the day it finally rained, quarantining a sad Alphonse inside their humble home, the littler Elric decided to finally brave the waters of boredom and ask what, exactly, his brother was reading (this decision made, of course, not without some nudging by their mother). The answer was a bit unexpected.

"Something called 'alchemy,'" Edward said—and all of a sudden, a whole world of wonders opened to Alphonse.

And he began to understand, and yet didn't, why Brother stayed indoors all day.

_But he still needs to make some friends, too._

* * *

**THREE**

It began not too long after the first time Mother collapsed.

They're not sure what started it, or who decided on the rules. All they know is one day, the silence born from washing dishes after a meager, child's effort meal became too much.

So Alphonse broke it.

"Calico cats."

And Edward, upon deciding those were the weirdest two words he had heard all day, looked up from his soapsud-covered sponge and hands. "Calico cats?" he repeated. "What?"

Alphonse shrugged, silver eyes focused on the drying cup in his grasp. "I like 'em."

Edward stared. "So…you just thought you'd say it?"

Another careless shrug. The cup was now placed beside its brethren on a towel to sunbathe.

Edward frowned, turning to the window. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—a rare sight these days. Alphonse found his eyes inexplicably drawn to it, drinking it in like wine. "Okay, then. Alchemy."

Alphonse grinned. "Summertime."

"Mom's stew."

Alphonse giggled, grabbing a plate to dry. But just like that—just the thought of Mom—was enough to place a heavy weight on his shoulders, burdening his spirits down. Weary, his ministrations slowing, he muttered, "…Mom's illness."

Edward understood the change of pace with a sharp, startled glance. Swallowing, he nodded. "Mom's illness."

Silence overtook them again. They were almost done with the dishes, by now. Cleaning for three wasn't nearly as long as cleaning for four.

_Especially when two of those three don't know how to cook._

Alphonse shoulders bunched up tight. "…I'm scared."

Edward let the water drain away before turning to his brother, big golden eyes empathetic and deep. "Yeah," he swallowed. Opening his mouth, but apparently finding nothing else worthy of saying, Edward finally nodded, repeating his response and leaning forward to hug Alphonse this time as he delivered it. "…yeah."

_I like. I like. I dislike. I'm hurting._

Who knew—maybe one day, they could call that kind of thing "therapy." Or simply just "getting by."

* * *

**FOUR**

The first time Edward saw Alphonse bleed, he thought he'd die.

It had started out as a simple game of King of the Hill with Winry and the others. Alphonse had somehow managed to drag him out there instead of coping himself up indoors with their bedridden mother (who had also urged Edward to go out and have some fun—especially for her sake).

But when the game got rough, and one of the boys started calling Alphonse names and shoved the boy tumbling down the hill, and all the easy, light-hearted laughter was only met by an uncertain stumble to his feet, a scary blotch of growing, seeping _red_ on his knee with uncertain, _hurt _tears crawling down those tanned baby cheeks—then Edward couldn't think—couldn't breathe—only realized that some _idiot _had just _hurt his little brother_—

He didn't realize he had punched their neighbor straight in the nose, giving him a lovely nosebleed, until Winry screamed his name.

Jerked back into the present, he widened his eyes, looking into the equally-shocked eyes of his somewhat-friend, before hurriedly muttering an apology, and without another word, hurrying to his fallen brother's side.

The stumble home was awkward, long, and uncomfortable under the heat of staring eyes.

But once he got Alphonse to sit down on a kitchen chair, Edward then climbed up onto the counter, grabbed the first aid kit, and hurried back to the tile floor to patch up his brother's knee.

Guilt-ridden and flustered, while bowed over his work, Edward wasn't sure he had heard right when Alphonse shyly thanked him. But when Alphonse humbly repeated it, Edward quickly looked away, idly making sure the band-aid was on tight as he shrugged carelessly. "…'swhat brothers are for…I guess."

* * *

**FIVE**

As Mom's condition worsened, the boys wrote letters day in and day out to their father—hoping—praying—fervently wishing that _maybe_, just maybe he might receive one and finally answer their plead for help.

Yet the days ticked by and no response was heard, so Edward put down his alchemy book and frowned, deciding that it was time for a plan B.

"But Brother, we don't _need_ a plan B. Dad's _going _to come—isn't he?"

Edward shrugged, placing a large piece of paper on the kitchen table as he and his younger brother stood hovering over it, perched on top of the seats of two chairs. "He might, but just in case, Al. It's always good to have a back-up, right?"

Alphonse frowned worriedly, his lower lip trembling just the slightest. "I…I guess…" But the thought of their father simply ignoring them in their time of need was too much—too painful.

Edward seemed to hold no qualm with it. Marker in hand, he bent over the paper, carefully etching with his hand a circle. "I got this idea from looking at the transmutation circles in those alchemy books I've been reading."

Alphonse blinked. "Do you think alchemy can save her?"

"Maybe." Edward shrugged. "But that's not what I'm talking about right now. I'm making a diagram."

"A diagram?"

"Yep!" A proud toothy grin was pointed his way before his elder brother turned back around and wrote in the middle of the center circle, _Mom._ Leaning back, he drew two other, equally-as-large circles obliquely from the center circle, in the left one, writing _Alphonse _and in the right, _Edward. _Then, he straightened. "See, it goes like this. Usually, Mom's the one who takes care of us, right?"

Alphonse nodded, failing to see where this was going. "Right."

"But now, she can't, 'cuz she's sick. So that's okay. That just means that _we'll _have to take care of _her_." Bending back over the paper, Edward then proceeded to draw two arrows—one leading from the _Edward_ bubble to the _Mom _bubble, and the other one leading from the _Alphonse _bubble to the _Mom _bubble.

Alphonse frowned, seeing a problem. "…but who's going to take care of us, Brother?"

"Oh, that's easy!" Edward bragged, lowering his marker to the page again and this time, drawing an arrow from the _Edward _bubble to the _Alphonse _bubble. "_I'll _just have to take care of you, Al! I _am _the oldest, after all!"

Relief, while great, was half as large as it should have been to the darker-blonde boy. "But…what about _you, _Brother? Who's going to care for you?"

Edward shrugged, popping the cap of his marker back on. He tossed the thing onto the table carelessly, watching as it rolled to the edge of the paper and then stopped as he answered, "I will, of course. I can take care of myself, you know. So that just means you guys have nothing to worry about! _I've _got it _all covered_!"

With a rather daring grin, Edward hopped off his chair, heading for the door to the main entryway. "On that note, I'm gonna go ask Mom what she wants for dinner—so be right back!"

Alphonse listened as his brother's hurried footsteps faded from his ear. His frown still lingering, he resolutely turned back to the paper before him, taking in the uneven diagram with displeasure. There was something wrong with it—it wasn't balanced. What was that that those alchemy books always mentioned—"equivalent exchange?" Yeah, that was it—and if so, why wasn't Brother, of all people, remembering something so basic?

This wasn't equivalent.

Without even realizing what he was doing at first, Alphonse leaned forward, picking up the marker and uncapping it. But as soon as he got that far, the idea formed itself in his head and with a smile, he made another arrow on the diagram. This one, drawn with the memory of King on the Hill and gentle hands on his knee.

It pointed from the _Alphonse _bubble to the _Edward_ bubble.

And now—_now_—their plan B was equivalent. He would just have to see to it that Brother would never try and alter it.

* * *

**SIX**

_Mom's dead._

Edward couldn't grasp it. Lying awake in his bed, curled on his side, his eyes were wide awake staring into the darkness. _Mom's dead. Dad didn't come._

_Alone—I'm alone. _

It was a cold feeling, Edward decided objectively—being alone. It settled on the floor of his stomach, a shivering, crystal ice that skated upward with each slow breath. But then, without warning, when the thoughts were the worst, it would jump up and grab onto his sternum, swinging and bringing down his collarbone with a painful, pulsing ache.

_I'm alone. All alone._

He curled up tighter, the cold feeling suddenly a pressure behind his eyes. _Alone—alone—_

"..B-Brother…?"

_No._

With a dazed blink, Edward rolled around to see Alphonse on the bed across from his, staring at him with wet, raining grey sky-eyes. Those small lips trembled, tiny hands reaching and grasping for the words he couldn't say—yet meant with all his heart—

—and Edward understood them with a gentle fire kindled in his chest.

_No. Not alone. Can't be alone—won't be alone. _

Sliding out from his bedsheets, the golden-haired boy shuffled to the other's bed, crawling in with his brother who latched on to him without a word. They stayed like that for several minutes, clinging to each other as if their lives depended on it.

Edward realized with a start that…maybe they did.

And suddenly, the darker-blonde boy in his arms meant so much more than before.

* * *

**SEVEN**

When the two determined to learn alchemy to its fullest extent in order to bring Mom back, they hadn't necessarily foreseen the terrifying woman Izumi Curtis and their month-long exile to the uninhabited island as part of that process.

But now, huddled under their makeshift shelter and listening to the sounds of nature, they found themselves reverting back to old traditions in order to make these series of new and often frightening events easier to handle.

As usual, Alphonse began.

"The stars in the night sky."

Edward frowned, humming in thought. "Dragons."

"Snow."

"Ew. Thunderstorms."

Alphonse turned to him with wide eyes. "You _like _thunderstorms?" he asked with the utmost shock, as if his brother had swallowed a crocodile.

"Yeah," Edward shrugged, turning to his brother. "Why not? They're cool."

"They're _scary,_" Alphonse corrected, returning his gaze to the patchy ceiling of their leaf-and-twig hut. He pursed his lips then in thought. "Okay, then. That'll be my third answer. Thunderstorms. Especially out here."

_When we're all alone, far from home._

Edward nodded understandingly. "Okay. Waiting."

Alphonse nodded back, knowing immediately what his brother meant by that vague response. He sighed, curling in a little on himself instinctively. The last topic was always hard to approach. "…I'm hungry."

Edward cracked a smirk. "Me too."

Alphonse smiled meekly. "Well, I guess that means we'll have to work doubly-hard tomorrow to get some food for us, huh?"

Edward turned to his little brother and nodded, smirk still in place. "Yeah. And don't forget—we'll have to work _together_, too. It'll be easier that way. And maybe that's part of what Teacher meat by 'All is one and one is all.'"

Alphonse frowned thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Maybe…"

"But I wouldn't worry about it too much right now," Edward said casually as he stretched and then laid his hands behind his head comfortably. "Pfft. Knowing how well we work together, we'll figure that puzzle out in no problem at all."

That made Alphonse smile. He began to draw imaginary shapes in the jungle floor beneath them, eyes suddenly interested in the creations only he could see. "…we _do _make a pretty great team, don't we, Brother?"

"_The best_, Al." Edward's smirk turned into a smile as he closed his eyes. "We make the best team that ever was."

* * *

**EIGHT**

They thought they were invincible. Maybe that was where they went wrong. After having so much success with Izumi (despite how scary the lady was), it was hard for the young boys to remind themselves that they were still just children. Still just novices trying to run before they learned how to crawl.

(But Truth apparently decided it wanted them to slide along their bellies first. Perhaps as punishment. After all, burning Icarus' wings hadn't been enough—apparently, drowning had to immediately follow.)

Edward couldn't describe the panic that flooded his system the instant he realized Alphonse was gone. Gone—away—never to be seen again. And then, the fact that not only was Alphonse gone—but that—that _thing_—hissing and groaning and shaking, clawing—that—that monstrosity was _Mom_. It couldn't be—could it?

And all at once, he vaguely wondered something else, too.

_Was there a level above hysteria?_

If so, it was breached that night. Breached, broken into—barriers between sanity and insanity shattered as Edward screamed and realized—_oh, oh gosh that scorching ice was back and alone alone alone no Alphonse no Mom no Dad no nothing—no other—_

_**I'm alone.**_

Something in his mind snapped the same instant his remaining leg kicked out to knock down the armor.

He tossed aside the helmet.

Stuck his finger in his own blood.

Began to draw.

And sobbed and cried and begged Truth to take anything—take everything—take _something_—but _give the other half of me back—_

Later, the significance that it was his _right arm_ that Alphonse's soul replaced would occur to the boy.

But at that moment, when those soul-fire eyes gazed at him in daze and confusion for the first time, a tentative voice murmuring, "…Brother…?", it was enough. Edward could hardly stay conscious enough to remind himself to breathe, let alone think about equivalent exchange and analogous meanings.

And it wasn't because of the lack of blood.

* * *

**NINE**

Alphonse wasn't allowed to be in the automail surgery room, even though he wanted to be. Winry and Granny Pinako would send him to do mindless chores instead, keeping him far, far away from his feverish, pained brother so he wouldn't even have to hear him scream (although he was told that Edward, surprisingly, never did).

At first, Alphonse was thankful for this. He wasn't sure what he would have done or said anyway to Edward when seeing him in such a state. He was sure part of himself would be jealous—however absurd that was—because at least Brother was feeling _something_, even if it was as nasty as pain. The other part of him would be terrified, he was certain of it. So afraid, so frightened, so horrified that big, impenetrable Brother was rendered to a sobbing, hysterical mess on a bed of wires and sweat.

So he accepted the large amount of chores and housework without much complaint.

But it wasn't until one random day when he was outside watering the flowers that the memory suddenly resurfaced—that three-circle diagram unbalanced by its arrows_._

The image almost gave Alphonse vertigo, disorienting him—the balance of that diagram from his memory was so far off-center. And yet, Alphonse had fixed it. Or, at least, he thought he had. Could have sworn he had.

But with a start, the armor realized he _hadn't_, yet. Not really, anyway.

Here Brother was—after having taken care of him so long, beginning from the point in which Mom got sick and lasting up until now—hurt, suffering, surviving automail surgery and yet doing all this _so they could finally move forward again. _So, once more—it was largely for his little brother's benefit.

And Alphonse hadn't—not really, anyway—been doing anything to provide for _him _in return.

Well, that would change, he decided. That would change very soon.

Dropping the hose and hurrying inside, Alphonse was fortunate enough to pass Granny Pinako just as she was exiting the automail surgery room. And yet, without warning, sharp and acute, the armored boy felt a surge of emotion course through his soul for what lay beyond that wooden door. _Big Brother's in there—_my _big brother, my provider, my defender._

He swallowed before reminding himself that he couldn't do that anymore—saliva wasn't required, even though somehow, his phantom throat felt so dry—and asked guiltily, "Granny…is there anything I can do for him?"

The woman looked put-out—as she always did. "You're doing enough for him by doing his chores, boy."

No. That wasn't enough—that was too flimsy. Too easy. It meant nothing to the boy drowned in pain and dizzy with nerves and tissues shoved into wires. "Yeah, but…but that's my _brother…_"

It was a long, awkward, pregnant silence until the older woman finally and reluctantly relented.

"When he's asleep, you can visit him, I suppose. Just hearing your voice—it may…" She swallowed. "It may do something for him. Help with the nightmares."

_Nightmares. _Alphonse had nearly forgotten about those—it had been so long since he had them, it felt like. Because…_because Brother had always been there to fend off mine before._ And now…

_Well, it's my turn, now, Brother. Now, _I'll _take care of _you_._

* * *

**TEN**

Edward's self-determined year of automail recovery was almost complete. Just a few more months to go, and they would be ready—ready to take on the State Alchemy exam—and with the exam, it so seemed, take on the world.

But for now, Alphonse decided it was okay to take things slow. It was okay, easily forgivable, easily acceptable when Edward would still stumble, wincing in pain from his leg attachment, and ask without really voicing anything at all if it would be okay if they just sat where they were so he could give his muscles a rest for a minute or two.

Alphonse, his self-proclaimed caretaker, would never argue, even if they did end up sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor or sometimes—as it was in this case—in the Rockbell's backyard garden.

Edward, apparently, wanted to relax his back muscles, too. Immediately upon sitting, he flopped backward, letting his arms sprawl out on either side of him as he lay spread-eagle down on the dirt ground. Alphonse groaned, thinking of the numerous scoldings they were going to get from the two Rockbell ladies still indoors.

"Brother…you're going to get dirty…"

A lazy, flippant wave of the arm was all he got in response. Alphonse couldn't help but note that it was with his flesh hand.

_He must be really tired today. _

So they sat. Alphonse was okay with that—sitting. It was easy. It gave one time to think, anyway. So it was nice. Nice, especially, because it allowed him to watch the butterflies flying by and listen to the other insects all around them, as well as the birds and the wind through the tree leaves and oh—well.

Alphonse had nearly forgotten the game.

And if he could have smiled for remembering it, he would have. "…the sounds of nature."

Edward's smile that split open his face was big enough for the both of them, aimed up at the sun that reflected his warmth just as brightly back. "Sleeping."

Alphonse laughed. "Of course you do. Um…" _What else do I like? _The first answer to come to mind was surprisingly tender—yet the younger boy couldn't stop himself from saying it. Perhaps, some small part of him thought that it just needed to be heard, especially after everything."…spending time with you."

The smile softened, golden eyes touched. "Same here, Al."

With that thought, Edward took a quiet breath, and Alphonse listened. His leather hands twisted in his lap, guilt riding his soul—but—but the truth was, this was always a game of honesty. Nothing else brought out the truth between each other as accurate as this game did. So…so he couldn't hold back now…right? Even though—even though what he had to say next might hurt Brother?

"Not being able to eat, sleep, or feel."

The wince he had expected still made him grimace. But he waited—because it wasn't his turn to speak. Not anymore.

"That I'm the cause for that."

Alphonse was about to object—really, if he had a mouth, those lips would be parted wide enough to allow a defensive shout to ring through—but they knew. They both did. The rules still held. So Edward swung up his flesh hand again, calling for a temporary truce before his brother could even utter a sound.

Reluctantly, Alphonse nodded in acknowledgement. _Okay._ _Fine._ _So I'm hurting because…_ "You blame yourself for what happened."

Edward nodded, too. There was no wince that time—but his eyes held a guarded look. Maybe he was expecting that answer? Had already gathered a mental defense against the suggestion that he was innocent? "You probably already know this—but," he said with a ragged, tired sigh. "My automail."

Alphonse nodded again, half-shrugging. "Yeah, that much I could see."

Edward frowned. Sighed. He closed his eyes, letting a heavy, uncertain tension settle between them—one that Alphonse wasn't sure how to breach.

Until, of course, he got an idea for a new addition to their unspoken rules.

"For whatever I'm not, you are."

That made Edward blink, those golden eyes reopening and staring at the sky before apparently deciding it couldn't give him the answers he wanted and sat up, turning his gaze to his armored brother in repeated surprise and confusion. "…what?"

"For whatever I'm not, you are," Alphonse repeated. "You know. Because you're like…the other half of me."

Edward slowly blinked a second time, the notion churning over and over in his mind. And finally, after a long pause, he nodded, smiling with surprising tenderness that completely eradicated the leftover tension that had blanketed the inbetween. "Okay. For whatever I'm not, you are," he agreed.

_For whatever I can't dream—_

—_for whatever I can never bring myself to say—_

—_for whatever breath I can't take—_

—_for whatever kindness I can't give—_

—_for whatever I can't feel—_

—_for whatever hope I can't gather—_

—_**you can.**_

_You who complete me._

And if they ever needed to explain why this was, well—there were ten specific instances that came to mind that had lead up to this point. Perhaps those—among several thousand others—would suffice.

Until they made new, substantial and lasting reasons to be brothers all over again.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **...not much to say here. 8D The story speaks for itself. I got the idea loosely from Sequitur's "Ten Nonlinear Movies" (go check it out, any NCIS fans-it's a most excellent oneshot; you can find it on my favorites page).

I also allowed myself creative freedom with the likes and dislikes of our two favorite alchemist boys. I figured Edward would like dragons just because-hey, by this point in his young years, he's not so cynical, and two, dragons are freakin' awesome. Just saying the obvious. I also made him like thunderstorms because that seemed to be a very Edward-like trait, where as Alphonse, I can easily believe, would be terrified of them (leading to more brother flufff g'awwwwwww).

So. Yes. And it's 1 in the morning. My brain is half-alive. I'm going to go salvage what parts of it I can.

For those who are curious-yes. The other stories are being worked on, despite how long it's taking.

Thank you. I hope you enjoyed. Please review if you feel so lead.

Good night. (Morning?)


End file.
